The fourth night
by Geraldine
Summary: Postep for SGTE, SGTJ. Leo discovers a habit of Sam's.


THE FOURTH NIGHT  
  
Geraldine  
  
*****  
  
Email : lazy.gege@ibelgique.com   
  
Category : drama, angst, slightly ESF  
  
Rating : PG  
  
Summary : Leo discovers a habit of Sam's...   
  
Spoilers : Everything to SGTE, SGTJ  
  
Disclaimer : They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, NBC, Warner Brothers, and I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. So obviously, they don't belong to me. I'm not making money from this story, I just have too much free time on my hands. So I'm begging : don't sue.  
  
Feed back appreciated.  
  
Note : missing scene for SGTE, SGTJ (yes, I know, there are dozens of them out there. Well, now, there's one more...)   
  
Acknowledgements : Thanks a lot to Emily, who beta'd the story, and to coupdepam and Jen, for their kind words.  
  
*****  
  
THE FOURTH NIGHT  
  
Geraldine  
  
Sam had been staring at his reflection in the window for a good half hour now. He sighed, deciding that it hadn't helped him to feel better. He turned away and his eyes fell on the phone sitting on his desk. He glared at it, then checked his watch and put his jacket on. The others were waiting for him. He could still hear Josh, earlier tonight. "We're gonna get Sam drunk and put him to bed."  
  
'And how is that going to help?' Sam wondered morosely. He watched the phone again. His father's excuses were still echoing in his mind.  
  
//"I really thought I could do it, you know."//  
  
He knew he would hear these words for a long time - the justifications, the excuses. The assurance that of course, Sam and his mother had always come first.  
  
//"Sam, no one is more important to me than you are."//  
  
How could he be sure that his father wasn't lying now? How could he trust him after... that.  
  
He felt his throat constrict and swallowed convulsively.   
  
What was he supposed to think, now that he had learned that everything his parents had meant to him had been a lie? When he had proposed to Lisa, he had hoped they would be as happy as his parents had been.  
  
Had seemed to be.  
  
He had always wondered whether he would be able to be as good a husband as his father had been.  
  
Had seemed to be.  
  
//"I'm sorry."//  
  
Sam wondered, for the thousandth time since that phone call three days earlier, if his father regretted having led a double life, or having been caught.   
  
//"I didn't want it to end this way."//  
  
"Neither did I, Dad," he whispered in the deserted room.   
  
He had to go. The others were waiting for him. His other family.  
  
He shivered. What if this family exploded like the one he had left in California?  
  
What would he do then?  
  
He shook his head. It wouldn't happen. His friends were... dependable. Trustworthy.  
  
Sure, they had lied to him sometimes - for work, for the greater good, because there was a bigger picture to consider. Not out of cowardice.   
  
That small voice, the one he had never managed to tune down completely since the night of the drop in, asked him what the political gain in lying to him was then. He ignored it.  
  
His friends loved him. They were waiting for him - and probably beginning to get worried. Sam didn't know if they would be able to do much for him, but they would be there, and they would try to cheer him up, and they would make sure he got home safely.  
  
If a few hours of forgetfulness were the best he could hope for, he would take it.   
  
//"I realize you feel betrayed-"//   
  
He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore this echo.  
  
//"But Sam - "//  
  
Unable to stand it anymore, he grabbed the phone, lifted it from the desk, the plug coming with it, and hurled it at the window separating his office from Toby's. The blinds came down, the glass exploded, the noise covering his father's voice. For a few seconds, he felt better. Stupid, but better.  
  
//"- you know that it doesn't mean that I don't love you. You do know that, right?"//  
  
"Sam?"  
  
'Wonderful,' he groaned inwardly.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
//"I never wanted to hurt you! Why do you think I kept it a secret? Sam?"//  
  
"Sam?"  
  
//"Did you love Mom?"//  
  
"SAM !!"   
  
Startled, he turned to the door. Leo was standing there, obviously torn between concern and anger.  
  
Oops.  
  
Concern seemed to win, and Leo entered the office. "You're hurt," he stated, not bothering to ask why there was now a hole between Sam's and Toby's offices.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Sam..." Leo sighed, and gestured for the young writer to follow him.   
  
Sam complied, protesting. "The others-"  
  
Leo cut him off. "Yeah, I know, they're waiting for you at the bar. Given the job you just did on your office, you'll forgive me for thinking that you really shouldn't drink tonight."  
  
"Toby's office."  
  
Leo watched him. "What?"  
  
"You said my office, but I think Toby's took the worst of it. Technically."  
  
He closed his eyes, trying to picture the face his boss would make tomorrow when he saw the damages. The first image that sprung to his mind was his father, the last time he had seen him, over a year before. He opened his eyes abruptly, and found that Leo was still watching him worriedly. He tried to smile, but if Leo's face was any indication, he failed miserably. To avoid being asked again if he was all right, he looked around him and said, "Hey, this isn't the way to your office."   
  
Some part of him fleetingly wondered how he had not noticed before, but he shrugged it off, too tired to bring himself to care.  
  
"Nothing gets by you, Sam," Leo answered, his tone sarcastic. He opened the door to the men's room and motioned Sam inside. As Sam hesitated, Leo grabbed his arm and yanked him inside.  
  
Sam turned to a mirror on the wall and said, "Hey, I'm bleeding." His tone sounded horribly flat even to his own ears.  
  
Leo looked about ready to lose what little was left of his patience. "Hence our presence here Sam. I swear, sometimes, for someone as intelligent as you are..." As he talked, he gathered a few tissues, then moistened one of them and handed it to Sam, who was staring at his reflection.  
  
"I look like my father."  
  
People had always said so, as far as he could remember. It was something he had always been proud of.  
  
Until three days ago.   
  
Yet another thing in his life that had changed.   
  
"Sam."  
  
"Don't call me Sam," he said absently.  
  
"It's your name."  
  
Sam wasn't listening.   
  
"No, seriously, when I was a kid, everyone always said that I was the spitting image of my father. And I suddenly wonder where that comes from. It's weird, isn't it? Spitting image, I mean, not the fact that I look like him. Because, well, that could be explained by, you know, genetics, and... education..." Sam stopped. Until now, he hadn't really wondered just how far his father's influence went - what had he taught Sam?  
  
Still ignoring Leo, he made a quick count. Sailing. Driving. Knotting his shoe laces. Not in that order. He had given Sam a few tips to study Spanish. He had advised him when he was wondering whether he really wanted to become a lawyer. He had supported him when he had thrown his life away to follow the Bartlet for America campaign.  
  
Yet another thing they had in common, Sam thought. They had both turned their backs on everything they knew, for some reason.  
  
His father had taught him that a lie always comes back to bite you in the ass.  
  
Well, the lie had come back for his father.   
  
Leo was watching him, looking like he was about to say something, then thinking better about it. He went near Sam, who couldn't find any energy left to move, and put the tissue over the cut he had on his forehead. Sam startled.  
  
"Hold it there," Leo ordered. He waited until he was sure Sam wouldn't drop it as soon as he had his back turned, then said, "I have two phone calls to make. Stay here."  
  
Sam nodded absently, then went back to studying his reflection. Leo shot him a last look and went out.  
  
//"Do you think it's been easy for me? All these years-"//  
  
Sam closed his eyes to avoid seeing his eyes, his father's eyes, staring back at him.   
  
//"Sam..."//  
  
His father's voice, which he had always known strong, broken on the phone, begging him to forgive him. Two seconds before Sam hung up on him.  
  
*****  
  
"I could have driven myself home, you know."  
  
"No, you couldn't have."  
  
"Yes, I-"  
  
"Sam, you've been sleeping in the West Wing for three days. You're exhausted, everyone had noticed that. Even the President, and that's saying something."  
  
Sam shot him an angry look. "The President knows?" he asked, his voice both sharp and shaking. "I'm gonna kill Josh."  
  
Taken aback by Sam's reaction, Leo answered, "No, he doesn't know. He just asked why you look tired. Which means that you must look on your deathbed, since the President isn't known to notice these things."  
  
"What did you - "  
  
"That you worked hard," Leo said before Sam could finish his question. "And I don't see why it would be so catastrophic to have the President know about - "  
  
"Yeah, and I could also hold a press conference," Sam said, his tone bitter.  
  
Leo decided not to answer. Sam was tired, angry, confused, and would lash out at whoever was near him. Better him than the President. He glanced sideways; Sam's head was leaning on the window and he was staring at the dark street.  
  
Leo almost regretted declining Josh's offer to join them and take Sam home himself. When Leo had called him to say that Sam wouldn't be joining them at the bar, Josh had insisted on coming back, but Leo had decided that he was perfectly able to take care of Sam himself. He wasn't so sure, now. He had never seen Sam this way, and he didn't quite know what to do with him. Somehow, he had a feeling that his usual 'gruff-but-vaguely-fatherly-boss' routine wasn't going to work this time.  
  
He took a right turn and parked the car in front of Sam's apartment building. Sam straightened in his seat, and looked at Leo, avoiding his eyes. "Thanks for the ride," he began.  
  
Leo cut the engine, decided not to be dismissed so easily.  
  
Sam sighed. "Leo, you don't have to - "  
  
"I know." He got out of the car, closed the door and joined Sam on the sidewalk. They stood there for a while before Leo said, "If you don't show me the way, it's gonna take a while."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Leo wondered, not for the first time this evening, if Sam's lack of reactions shouldn't worry him more.  
  
He followed his colleague, who was finally on the move, wondering what to do next.  
  
What the hell was he supposed to say?  
  
'You know, Sam, my father was a drunk and he shot himself?'  
  
He doubted it would be a comfort to Sam.   
  
"You know, it's not the end of the world?"  
  
It was - at least, the end of a world where Sam thought that his parents loved each other and were happy.  
  
"You know, I'm sure he still loves you?"  
  
It wouldn't make the betrayal go away - if nothing else, he supposed it only complicated Sam's feelings.   
  
He grimaced. He was so much better behind his desk, barking orders.  
  
He wasn't good at comforting people.  
  
And he was probably the last person in the world who should be giving advice on familial problems.  
  
*****  
  
The first thought to cross Leo's mind when he entered the apartment was that the place had been broken in. Sam swore softly, but he didn't look alarmed, or even surprised. Just self-conscious.  
  
"Sorry," he said, walking to the answering machine and pressing the play button.   
  
A voice Leo didn't know rang in the room.  
  
"Please, call me back, son."   
  
In a sweeping movement, Sam threw the phone on the floor, then froze. "Shit," he mumbled, before turning to Leo. "Sorry," he repeated, gesturing to the trashed room. "I'll clean that up later. And Toby's office..."  
  
"Forget that, I'll call maintenance tomorrow," Leo answered distractedly. "Sam... You did this?"  
  
The answer was obvious, but he was having a hard time reconciling the image he had of Sam, always controlled, always careful to keep his emotions, his words, in check, with the smashed frames on the floor and the books and video tapes sprawled everywhere.  
  
Sam shrugged. "It was that or putting my foot in the TV."  
  
"That's not what I meant, and you know that. Does that... hum..." For once, the great Leo McGarry was at a loss for words.  
  
"Do I do that often?" Sam guessed.  
  
"Yes. Do you do that often?"  
  
"It's only the fourth time."  
  
"ONLY?" Leo repeated, incredulous. And what was worse, Sam seemed to think it was completely normal.  
  
"Do you want a drink?" the young man asked, ever polite.  
  
Leo looked him unbelievingly. "Sit," he ordered. As Sam hesitated, he gestured for him to comply.  
  
Once the young man was settled on the couch, he took a seat in front of him.   
  
"When?"  
  
"That's not - "  
  
"Yes, it's important. When?"  
  
"The first time after the funeral of a friend. The second time after Lisa. The third..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Sam sighed. "After Rosslyn."  
  
Leo grimaced, and wondered, once again, why they hadn't insisted on making all the staff see someone. They should have learned their lesson after Josh.  
  
Should have...  
  
"I know what you're thinking about," Sam said. "And I already talked to someone."  
  
"Josh doesn't count."  
  
"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear that," Sam said sarcastically, "but I wasn't talking about him either. He... er, he was there the second time. I think I scared him," he added with a sheepish smile.  
  
"Gee, I wonder why. It's not worrying at all to see you hurl objects through the room." Back at the office, watching Sam throw his phone at the window had more surprised than worried him, but thinking back about the look on his face, and seeing what state his place was in, Leo now wondered what would have happened if the young man had gone with the others. Had come back drunk. Had stayed alone.  
  
Sam shrugged. "He dragged me to a friend of his, a psychologist."  
  
"You still see him?" Leo asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, go see him again."  
  
"Is that an order?" Sam asked, defensively.  
  
"Do I need to make it one?"  
  
"I... Leo, I work for the President. I can hardly afford to..." He stopped, not knowing how to finish. He looked at Leo, who stared back at him. "You know," he said at last.  
  
"Is that what you thought about Josh when I called Stanley?"  
  
"What? Of course not! Josh had a problem and..." Understanding seemed to dawn on him. "Leo, I'm fine."  
  
"Sam, you broke a window. You have a cut to prove it. And by the way, you should really put something on that."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Sure," Leo said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It hadn't taken him long to discover that Sam was always fine.  
  
He was fine after Governor Bartlet had torn to shreds a speech he had spent the night working on.  
  
He was fine after canceling his wedding.  
  
He was fine after being shot at, after waiting for hours to know whether his best friend would survive, after long nights spent in the ICU, holding Josh's hand, until the painkillers finally knocked him out.  
  
Leo had often wondered how Sam could deal with that.  
  
Surveying the room again, he realized that he had his answer.  
  
"Leo, it's not a problem."  
  
"What would Josh say if I called him know?"  
  
"Probably something incoherent, if he's had enough to drink."  
  
Before Leo could answer, a few knocks on the door startled them both.  
  
"Sam? I know you're here!"  
  
Josh.  
  
"You were saying?" Leo smiled. His smile vanished when Sam merely stared back at him, not seeming to understand what was happening. "Stay here," he ordered, and went to open the door.  
  
Josh was still yelling, "Samuel, I swear to God, if you don't open the damn door..."  
  
He stopped when Leo opened the door, gesturing for him to enter.  
  
Josh put one foot inside, looked around and swore. "Shit."  
  
"Yeah, we covered that already," Sam said. He frowned, puzzled. "You're not drunk?"  
  
"When did you do that?" Josh asked.  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
Leo was watching, feeling lost but not daring to move. The two younger men seemed to have completely forgotten about him and he didn't want to remind them that he was still there.  
  
"When?" insisted Josh.  
  
"When I heard about it."  
  
"And you didn't clean up since?" Josh asked, before answering his own question. "Of course, you didn't come back ever since. Sam..."  
  
"Don't start," Sam mumbled, his voice shaking.  
  
"Why... You promised you'd tell me."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Leo had the feeling that Sam hadn't wanted to add to Josh's problems - Josh, who was still struggling with the aftermath of Rosslyn. He also guessed that Josh knew it, and that no one would say it clearly.  
  
"Whatever," Josh finally said. "But you do realize that we're gonna have a long discussion tomorrow. And another one on Sunday. And next week, and for as long as needed."  
  
Sam leaned back, closed his eyes and smiled weakly. "I'm... painfully aware of it, yes."  
  
"You wouldn't have told me if I hadn't come here tonight, would you?"  
  
"I wouldn't have had to."  
  
Josh frowned but since Sam didn't seem eager to elaborate, he turned to Leo, who said quietly, "He ... broke something, at the office. It'll be dealt with tomorrow." And it wasn't the problem.  
  
Josh nodded and turned to Sam. "You should go to sleep."  
  
"You're not drunk," Sam said, his voice awed.  
  
"I wasn't going to let you be sober alone, tonight."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I know what you're thinking about, Sam," added Josh. "And it won't happen to us. We're here, Sam."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Sam didn't move, obviously waiting for Josh and Leo to go away, their mission a success.  
  
"Sam, I'm staying for the night. And I won't go to bed while you're still up, so deal with it and move already."  
  
Sam didn't protest. "Fine. There are things to drink in the fridge, and covers in the closet. If you want to stay, there's no reason not to be comfortable."  
  
"Sam, I already slept here. I'm gonna pretend I'm home. I'm always pretending I'm home. That's part of what makes me irresistible."  
  
Sam snorted loudly, and Leo smiled. "I'm gonna go," he said.  
  
Sam managed to open his eyes, but it was obviously an effort. "Thanks, "he said.  
  
"Anytime," he answered. "And don't worry."  
  
Josh followed him outside.  
  
"You gonna be okay?" Leo asked.  
  
"I know how to deal with him."  
  
"That's not what I was thinking about."  
  
Josh nodded. "I don't know what to tell him, to, you know..."  
  
"Make things better?"  
  
"Yeah." He thought about it for a minute, then looked hopefully at Leo. "Any suggestion would be welcome."  
  
Leo thought back about what Sam had told him, this morning. "My father didn't pick a cocktail waitress, Leo. He had another woman in an apartment in Santa Monica. For twenty-eight years."  
  
How do you feel when you learn that your father lied to you all your life?  
  
When you realize that the infidelity didn't stop with sex? If he had stayed with this woman all these years, he had had to love her.  
  
Did that make things better or worse?  
  
"I don't know, Josh," he admitted. "I don't think it's gonna matter what you tell him tonight. Did you see him? He's about to pass out."'  
  
Josh nodded. "I know. See you tomorrow?"  
  
Leo shook his head. "We'll call if there's something. He's gonna want to talk. Sooner or later. Stay with him."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Leo walked away, feeling Josh's eyes boring into his back.  
  
*****  
  
When Josh got back inside, Sam was standing in the middle of the living room, staring at the books on the floor.  
  
"We'll deal with that tomorrow," Josh told him. "You should go to sleep before you fall down."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Yeah. Just go to sleep, okay?"  
  
Sam nodded, shoulders hunched, and walked to the bathroom without looking at Josh.  
  
Leo had said that Sam would want to talk, eventually. Josh wasn't so sure.  
  
Sam didn't talk, not like that. He listened to people, yes. He urged them to talk about their problems. But he never shared his burdens with others.  
  
Josh had often wondered why that was. Sam was his best friend, and yet he had learned that his wedding with Lisa had been cancelled two weeks after the decision had been made - when CJ had asked, jokingly, if she should clear the date. Sam had answered neutrally that there wouldn't be a wedding after all, and there had been an awkward silence, that Toby had filled after a while, asking about the last polls.  
  
Later that night, Josh had found Sam in his trashed motel room and had bullied him into talking.  
  
He had often wondered why Sam, champion of the communication that he was, refused to share his problems with others. He hoped it wasn't that his friend considered his problems as less worthy of interest than everybody else's, but he was beginning to wonder. And that question also led him to wonder if Sam didn't think he handled problems badly somehow. When he added this way he had of unleashing his anger on pieces of furniture, Josh was... worried.  
  
He had wondered, sometimes, if Sam had ever taken his anger out on himself.  
  
He wasn't so sure he wanted to know the answer.  
  
He went to the bedroom and found Sam, lying on the bed, his clothes still on. He had put a Band-Aid on the cut on his forehead, and was staring at the ceiling.   
  
"You okay?" Josh asked.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You don't want to put something else on to sleep?"  
  
A small shrug. "Too tired."  
  
"Yeah, you should probably stop sleeping at the office."  
  
"I didn't want to come back."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You saw..."  
  
"Yes, maybe if you hadn't trashed your possessions, the place would have been more comfortable."  
  
"It was that or kick the TV."  
  
Josh swallowed nervously, imagining sparks, and shattered glass. "Okay, you were right to take your anger out on the books."  
  
"Thought so, too."  
  
The silence that followed was broken by an alarm going off in the street.  
  
"He asked, he begged me to forgive him," Sam whispered.  
  
Josh observed him for a while. "What did you do?"  
  
Sam had a humorless laugh. "Hung up on him. Not very polite."  
  
"Screw politeness," Josh answered, and Sam laughed again. Josh grimaced. It was so unlike Sam...  
  
"Am I doing this the wrong way?" Sam asked.  
  
Josh sighed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Sam continued staring at the ceiling. "The wrong way?" Josh asked.  
  
"Am I overreacting? Should I be more... I don't know. I'm thirty three, I don't need them anymore, they live on the other side of the damn country, and I'm not the first person to learn that one of his parents has had an affair, so, shouldn't I, you know, get over it?'  
  
Josh's worry went up a notch. "Sam, everyone reacts differently," he begun.  
  
"And we both know that I'm known for getting all worked up over nothing."'  
  
"Sam, I've always thought that you often under react. Or do I need to remind you of Lisa?"  
  
"No, thanks," Sam snapped. "And do not tell me that you guys didn't think, "Sam is having a hissy fit again" when Toby - "  
  
"We thought Toby was wrong," Josh cut off. "And I told him so." 'And I'm sorry I didn't say so * before * he screwed you over,' he added mentally.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then why... no, never mind."  
  
"Why didn't anyone tell him to tell you?"  
  
Sam stopped pretending the ceiling was interesting and turned his gaze to Josh, waiting for an answer.  
  
An answer Josh didn't have.  
  
"I wish I could tell you there was a reason, but it was just... it was one of these ideas that look very bright, and then when everything turns wrong you can't explain why you did it. It... it just seemed like a good idea at the time, Sam."  
  
Once again, Josh wondered how he could ever have thought that Sam wouldn't have a problem with that.  
  
Once again, he failed to see the answer.  
  
"Okay," Sam sighed.  
  
"Look, we'll talk about Toby tomorrow. Now, what I'd like to know, is how are you after..."  
  
"After learning that all the times he told us he was working late, and he loved us, he was with his mistress?" Sam asked, bitterly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sam went back to staring at the ceiling, as if he lacked the energy to do anything else. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."  
  
"Sleep, for starters," answered Josh. "Talk to us. Wait before you call your father back - it's you who'll decide when you're ready for that, not him."  
  
"Sounds so easy," Sam sighed, closing his eyes.  
  
"I hope it will be," Josh said, not believing it himself. Sam's father hadn't chosen the best time ever to be caught cheating on his wife.  
  
Sam nodded without answering, and Josh added. "I'm gonna let you sleep. I'll be here if you need something."  
  
There was no answer and he rose, turned off the light, and closed the door.  
  
**********  
  
Sam waited until the door had closed to open his eyes.  
  
He felt vaguely guilty for letting his friend think that he was resting while he really didn't want to sleep, but he needed to think.  
  
He silenced the voice who was asking him if his lies were better than everybody else's, and tried to deal with all the thoughts spiraling in his head.  
  
He didn't know who to trust anymore.  
  
He didn't know who to believe.  
  
If his father, the man he had always looked up to for his honesty, his honor, was able to betray him so thoroughly, how could he still believe in anything else?  
  
He had thought that he could be sure of certain things - not only death and taxes, as the cliche went, but simple things. That his father was a good man.  
  
That he would never hurt him, that he wouldn't betray the trust that he had in him.  
  
That his family was solid, that his parents loved each other, that they were happy.  
  
He had been wrong.  
  
His eyes were burning and he blinked, trying to dispel the tears.  
  
"Son of a bitch," he said to the ceiling.  
  
He would never have believed it was possible to be that mad at someone - and still love him.  
  
He had believed that there were absolutes, that there were things a person just wouldn't do, whatever the circumstances. He had thought there were unforgivable things. And yet, he knew that eventually, he would forgive his father.  
  
Because he was still his father - even if now, he was also the guy who sneaked out to find his mistress when his family thought he was working late.  
  
Because Sam still believed that man, when he said that he loved him.  
  
He didn't trust him anymore, probably would never trust him anymore, but he loved him.  
  
Accepting that fact made him feel a little better.  
  
He fell asleep.  
  
**********   
  
24 hours later   
  
"Forget it, Josh."  
  
"Sam, I'm telling you."  
  
"It's a very bad idea, I know it, you know it, and - "  
  
"It's a very good idea.  
  
"I know what you're trying to do," stated Sam.  
  
"Oh? And what am I trying to do?" Josh asked, defying him to find the good answer.  
  
"You're trying to cheer me up. You're trying to tell me that you're here, that the others are here, that everything will be fine, blah-blah-blah."  
  
Josh almost smiled. "Is it working?" he asked.  
  
Sam smiled weakly. "Yeah, I guess..."  
  
"See..."  
  
"Putting my books back in disorder won't help."  
  
"Sa-am," whined Josh.  
  
"Jo-osh," he mimicked. "It's not that hard to file them by editor."  
  
"No, but by the initial publishing date..."  
  
Sam shrugged. "Handle the DVD's then," he suggested.  
  
"Fine."  
  
"And, really, I don't see why * not * filing them would help me feel better."  
  
"You'd be surprised."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"And, Sam?"  
  
Sam looked up from the book he was holding. "What you said, about us, being there... we are. Just because your family is collapsing in California doesn't mean we are, too."  
  
"Okay," Sam said, too quickly.  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
Sam eyed him a moment. "Yes?"  
  
He had always trusted Josh. He had always been sure that his friend would help him as best as he could.  
  
Josh could have been at his place now. Or at work.   
  
Or anywhere but here, helping him to clean up his place, holding his hand while he was wondering which parts of his childhood memories he could still believe - if he could still believe any.  
  
Josh had stayed, hadn't criticized him once, had even encouraged Sam to call his father a jackass, even though his own father was dead and he still missed him.  
  
He had taken Sam's side, no questions asked.  
  
And if he promised Sam that he would be there, that his second family would be there, then maybe - maybe - he could believe it.  
  
"Yes," Josh said again.  
  
For some reason, Sam began to breathe a little better.  
  
"Okay," he said.  
  
  
  
And without asking for more, he decided to trust Josh.  
  
"Okay."  
  
END  
  
AN : The scene in which Leo drives Sam home looks eerily like a scene of 'Enough', from Deb, where Leo drives Sam home. What can I say... I loved it, it stuck with me, and I hadn't realized that I had rewritten it into my fic until it was done. Deb gracefully accepted that I keep it. Thanks, Deb! Also, her fic is really good - you can find it here :  
  
http://www.citlink.net/~captdeb/enough.htm   
  
Thanks for reading!! 


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